Kota tells her story of Storm
by Thornpaw of Clawclan
Summary: A one shot about a girl named Kota. The story is set in Lyras world of the golden compass. Kota tells her sad little story about her life, and how Storm had changed it.


Kota's story-

Have you ever read the Northern lights, or the subtle knife, or the Amber spyglass even?

No...

Ok. Then I'll explain what a daemon can be.

A daemon is your life and soul, represented by an animal form that walks by your side. You are one with it and it is one with you. Its your soul, and seeing someone without a daemon would like be seeing someone without a head. Like a horrible mutant. You die, and so does your daemon. Your daemon dies, and as will you. You must stay besides it. The father you go from it, the more pain fills your inside, so agonizing its impossible to ignore.

Let me tell you about my daemon. People in this world with imagination enough always can. They just need to believe.

My daemon is called Storm. He is brave, but comforting. He tells me right from wrong. We play together. We play and we fly and ride. He can still change. Sometimes he's a large palomino horse, and I ride his beautifle chestnut brown bulk bear-back. Other times he's a magnificent golden eagle, and we ride together, me clinging to his golden feathers, his broad wings protecting me from the wind. But Mostly he's a wild cat. His eyes bright green and filled with anticipation. He smiled at me when I see him so I smile back, and I love him.

He's different in school, in lessons. When we sit at our table in maths, he turns into a snake, and coils himself around the desk, so no one can see or laugh at my work. I thank him for that. When we struggle through German he's a great blue macaw, showing that in a stuffy classroom there can be beauty.

In Drama he rears up as lion, still a teenage lion, with matches of mane growing around his neck, but it shows he's big and powerful. In swimming lessons he's a blue beautifle dolphin and he helps me swim, as I clutch his fin. And by English he's tired and turns back into his favourite form. A wild cat. He sleeps on my lap because he knows I don't need any help with English.

At lunch we sit by ourselves in our corner. I lean against the wall, the sun making me sleepy, and Storm finishes off my tuna sandwich, whilst his black cat fur is nestled into my side. We see the trees silhouetted against the late summer sun. Then we talk, or we just lay sleepily in each others arms. He is mine and I am his.

When we come out of school he turns into a bear, and I slump on his dark chocolate brown back. Or he's a parrot, wearily perched on my shoulder. It depends which of us is more tired. We wait until most people have taken the buss home. Then he turns into a horse, and we ride together through our secret rought through the alley, round the corner and into the woods. We spend half an hour there. Its amazing, the wood.

There are always plants to smell, berries to eat, birds to hear, butterflies to chase, trees to climb. And sometimes when we're lucky we see stag. Beautifle and delicate stag, tiptoeing through the forest on their dainty hooves. Then Storm becomes one of them and I walk at his side, my hand on his antlers. The other deer pin back their ears and look at my worriedly. But they don't run. They are calmed by Storm. We play, Storm is king of the stag and I am his queen.

We sometimes stay longer. We are mesmerized by the peace and tranquillity. As long as we get back by half six, we'll be fine. Mother gets back from the pub by then. That's her job. She leaves and five In the morning and arrives at six pm. She comes back tired and sad. Her skin greyish and greasy. Her hair is always tangled and dusty brown coloured. Sometimes it falls out and that makes me sad. She has dark circles under her eyes. He doesn't wear make up because she says there's no point. I get her some water and some food. he sips and nibbles a little, then she sleeps. She always sleeps with her eyes wide open.

Me and Storm go to our room. Its plain and simple. Beige and brown. It has our draws, one for my schoolwork, and one for when Storm turns into a magpie and fly's round collecting preciouses little objects. And in my draw is a box. In that box is a shell. From the sea. Its pink and white and swirly. They say you can hear the sea if you listen to shells. My dad gave me that shell. I can here his voice in the shell. He tells me to help Mother, and he tells Storm to look after me.

Storm loved father as much as I did, and he vowed he'd protect me. I remember, when mum was well. We'd all go for walks together through our forest. Storm would be a kitten, and I'd be a toddler, and we'd rush ahead into the green together.

If I cry, then Storm will turn into a fluffy white cat, and press himself under my neck because he knows I love it. And we'd sleep. He'd turn into a gorilla, big and strong, much bigger than me. So I'd sleep pressed against him.

When times get tough. I have Storm. He has me. We live in each other. He is my heart and soul and I love him till the day we die.

-Kota


End file.
